Cormac said we would work together, but I hadn’t thought he meant this. Not after everything that’s happened.

“She was deemed unsuitable in more ways than one.” Cormac leans forward, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. His cold black eyes stay on me.

“Maela?” I assume. She was the person most likely to ascend to the position, and the person most likely to fly into a murderous fit of rage and lose her chance. I’d seen her instability more than once while she lorded over my training at the Coventry. I relied on it during my escape, when I couldn’t reach Erik by myself. I let her push him into the tear I had created. All I had to do was mention kissing him.

“Never,” he said with a groan. “She’s too … eager.”

“She’s too cunning,” I correct him.

“Either way, Maela would be a poor candidate for the position.” Cormac laughs as though we’re playing a new game.

I’d suspected from my interactions with her at the Coventry that something had gone wrong between Cormac and Maela. Now I’m certain I was right. I’d been on the bad end of Maela’s temper while I was under her watch. She had often abused her position training the incoming Eligibles. I can’t imagine the destruction she’d have caused as Cormac’s wife.

But if it wasn’t Maela, that left a frightening possibility.

“Not my … sister?” I ask, dreading his answer.

“Much too young,” Cormac says. It should be reassuring that he sees her this way, but I also know this means Amie is still the same giddy girl who mooned over a bakery cake on my retrieval night. And Cormac has been molding her—altering her—for over a year to trust him and the Guild.

“I had an arrangement with Pryana,” Cormac admits, drawing a long breath that says, I’m guilty. “My men—”

“Your Tailors.”

“My Tailors,” he says, barely missing a beat, “thought they could splice her with Loricel’s genetic material. But she’s never shown the natural talent Loricel—or you—had.”

“Pity,” I say carefully. I don’t want him to see I’m upset over what he did to Loricel, the Creweler who guided me during my short time at the Coventry. Cormac collects information the way some men collect old Bulletins. But with him it isn’t a harmless habit. Cormac knows which stories—which inconsequential facts should be held on to—so he can use them against you later.

Cormac’s mind stays on Pryana, though. “I’ve placed her back within the Western Coventry and canceled the wedding.”

“I hope you hadn’t sent the invitations,” I say.

“Would it matter?” he asks with a snort.

Of course not. The Tailors under his command could remove the memory of the invitation, alter the information in the minds of the people fortunate—or rather, unfortunate—enough to have received one. Every action Cormac takes has a built-in fail-safe. He never has to worry about making a policy mistake or averting a disaster because he can wipe the memory of it away.

Tailors were the nightmares you couldn’t remember the moment your eyes opened.

“Well, you are too old for me,” I say, searching for something to talk about that doesn’t revolve around that ring. In the end, I give up. “Why? Tell me why I should accept your … offer?”

“There’s the little matter of your sister. Need I remind you she’s currently in my custody?”

I shake my head. I’m well aware that he has Amie.

“Good. I knew she would come in handy, but there’s more,” he says. He straightens in his chair, ready to talk business. “The reason you should agree to it is fairly simple. There’s trouble in Arras. If we’re going to work together to ensure both worlds survive, we need to give the people something else to think about, obsess over—and what’s better than a celebrity wedding?” He flashes me a blinding smile that’s meant to be charming. Too bad it’s never worked on me. But I know he’s absolutely right. The wedding of Cormac would be the talk of every metro in Arras. It would occupy the Bulletins and the Stream for months, even years, or however long it might take to divert people’s attention from what’s really going on.

“You want to distract them,” I say.

“I need them in their places, Adelice. Our plans won’t succeed if the citizens are scared.”

“Exactly what is happening in Arras?” I ask.

“Nothing that can’t be handled,” he assures me, but he blinks as he says it.

Except he needs a wedding—a huge distraction—to handle it.

I push the plate away from me and rub my wrists. I don’t know how much time I have until he puts the gages back on my hands, now that he’s pitched his idea.

“You’re finished with your meal,” Cormac says. He looks at the gages, and I sigh, raising my hands to him. An aeroship caught in the Interface between Earth and Arras is no place to try to escape. If only Cormac could see that.

“These protect me from you,” he says, picking up the gages. “I saw what you did to Kincaid, which was admirable, but I’m not eager for a repeat performance. Not yet. There is another option, though.”

He glances toward the box on the table. I still haven’t touched it.

“If I say yes, no more gages?” I ask.

“When you put on that ring, Adelice, you’ll be making a commitment. As will I,” he reminds me. “To show you I am serious about our endeavor, as long as you wear that ring, there is no need for these.” He waves the gages around and I look from them to the ring.